El Bosque Mágico

Jorge Teillier

In Memoriam Henry Treece

Y el Poeta me dijo:

 «El bosque está lleno de crepitanates pasos.

 El bosque está lleno de agonizantes chillidos.

 ¡Nadie debe entrar esta noche a ese bosque»

Allí encontré una mujer de ojos de amaranto

y de uñas creciendo como amistosas orugas.

Su pelo tenía el color de las hojas insomnes

y una rama la guiaba como sabia serpiente.

Ella me cantó nuevas villanelas

y me mostró el dragón que al protegía en el aire.

Un jabalí defendió con sus dientes mi mente

y supe que una risa oculta se burlaba de mí.

Ella me hizo dejar mi amuleto sobre una lápida

y me mostró cómo matar mis amadas alondras

con una mueca, un silbido, un susurro,

con una hoja transformada en el licor prohibido.

Ella me preguntó mi nomre y el nombre de mi casa.

Yo sólo le nombré el Libro de los Libros.

Ella me dijo que podíamos dejar el bosque

e ir al Baile de los Reyes del Valle de la Luna.

Yo vi sus ojos volviéndose hogueras implacables,

vi sus uñas creciendo como amenazantes culebras

y recordé de golpe los rezos de mis parientes

y me encontré solo en mi tierra natal.

The Magic Wood

translated by Mathew Weitman

[In Memoriam Henry Treece]

«The wood is full of shining eyes, / The wood is full of creeping feet, / The wood is full of tiny cries; / You must not go to the wood at night! »

 —From “The Magic Wood”

There I met a woman with amaranth eyes

& hair like heaps of sleepless leaves.

Her fingernails grew like friendly caterpillars

around a branch that guided her like a wise serpent.

She showed me the dragon that protected her

in the air above, then sang me new villanelles.

My mind was harbored by havalinas, but hidden

laughter mocked me from somewhere far off.

She made me leave my amulet on the tombstone,

then taught me how to kill my beloved larks:

with a scowl, a whistle, a whisper—

with a leaf transformed into forbidden liquor.

She asked me my name & where I was from—

I told her the title of my favorite book.

She smiled & said, Let’s leave this forest

& go make merry at the Moon King’s Ball.

I watched her eyes smolder like cruel bonfires,

those friendly fingernails soon grew into snakes.

Suddenly, I remembered the prayers of my parents,

& I found myself back home, alone.

about the authors
Jorge Teillier

Jorge Teillier

Jorge Teillier (1935-1996) was a Chilean poet, editor, and critic. The author of twelve books of poetry—recently anthologized in Nostalgias de la Tierra (Catedra, 2013)—Teillier is perhaps best known as the founder of Laric Poetry, a poetics characterized by myth, childhood, and provincial life.

 

Mathew Weitman

Mathew Weitman

Mathew Weitman is a PhD student in literature and creative writing at the University of Houston where he is an Inprint Brown Foundation Fellow and poetry editor for Gulf Coast.

Other works by Mathew Weitman


Translator's Note